


IT'S CANON Pt. 14

by Hinn_Raven



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Awkwardness, M/M, Pining, Trailer Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grif meets Simmons in basic training. He most definitely does not have a crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	IT'S CANON Pt. 14

**Author's Note:**

> Look I have a lot of Grimmons emotions after that trailer, okay? And this is my new headcanon, and no one can take it from me. 
> 
> Title comes from Renaroo's suggestion.

“Well this is awkward…”

Grif had honestly never expected to see Simmons again. It was a big war, after all, and they’d been stationed at opposite sides of the galaxy.

Meeting the guy in boot camp had been a fluke. It had taken him a while to figure out the guy’s name; freaking out on top of a tall ledge was, apparently, not conductive for Simmons’ social skills. But they’d been made to do chores together, and Grif had pretty quickly figured out that he could distract Simmons into doing his work for him if he timed it right. Sure, Simmons would complain about it later, but he’d still _done it_ , and that’s what really mattered. If Grif was going to be in this army, he was going to do as little as possible.  

At some point, he’d started hanging out with Simmons, even when he didn’t have to.

Look, Grif didn’t do crushes, okay? He wasn’t some freaking high schooler. He’d just happened to like spending time around Simmons. And possibly had thought about him in the shower a few times. Look, they were miles away from anyone else, and Simmons was the least undeniably terrible person in camp.

It was only to be expected, really.

He and Simmons didn’t get along, per se. They fought a lot, to the point that their CO yelled at the two of them for bickering when they were honestly just having a normal conversation about what was going to be for dinner that night. But getting along was superfluous, in Grif’s eyes. Simmons wasn’t terrible company, and he had more fun arguing with Simmons about bad sci-fi than he’d had since he’d gotten that fucking draft letter.

Only, now boot camp was over, and they were all being sent off to join their squads, all over the galaxy.

Grif was probably never going to see Dick (seriously, who names their kid “Dick,” unless they _want_ the kid to get bullied forever? Clearly, Simmons’ parents are the actual worst.) Simmons ever again.

Which was why, on their last night, Grif had gone to Simmons’ bunk with a pack of cigarettes and a case of beer that he had bribed out of the quartermaster, and made a simple proposal.

“Way I figure,” he said, trying to sound calm and collected, but it didn’t matter if he didn’t, because Simmons had no room at all to judge. “We’ll never see each other again, and you probably don’t want to die a virgin.” And then he’d held up the condom packet he’d also bribed out of the quartermaster.

Simmons spluttered. He was still wearing his helmet and armor, unlike Grif, who’d stripped out of it before he’d shown up at Simmons’ door, which was kind of sad, because Grif bet he was turning enough shades of red that he could function as the flag. “I’m not a virgin!” Simmons yelped.

“Sure Simmons,” Grif said, rolling his eyes. He’d prepared for this. “Fine. If you’re not up for it,” he made a big show of turning around to leave.

“Wait! I, uh. Guess it wouldn’t be a terrible idea?” Simmons’ voice cracked several times while saying it, which honestly was one of the funniest things Grif had ever heard.

“Alright then,” Grif said, putting the beer down on the ground, while Simmons began to fumble at the clasps on his armor.

They’d parted ways the next morning. Simmons was barely able to meet Grif’s eyes, and Grif was smirking at the dirty looks Simmons’ neighbors were sending the two of them. (They were assholes anyway. Grif hoped they’d kept them up all night, because they _deserved it_.)

Grif had thought that sleeping with Simmons would get him over that stupid not-crush. It hadn’t even been _good_ sex. There had been fumbling, and Simmons had cried, and Grif had fallen off the bed, and they’d both made far more noise than the situation mandated. They hadn’t even kissed. Grif had had better sex in _high school_. Which made it even more embarrassing that he still couldn’t get Simmons’ face out of his head, even now that he was in the middle of a fucking _war zone_.

Grif thought about sending Simmons a message or something a few times. Some sort of, “Hey, I’m still alive, what about you?”

He never did.

He wondered if Simmons would have responded if he had, or if he just would have deleted it without opening it.

He also never really stopped picturing the way Simmons had looked pinned beneath him in the shower either, but that’s beside the point.

The point was this; Dexter Grif got reassigned to Blood Gulch Outpost Number One, and Dick Simmons was already there.

Simmons froze, his shoulders going up, somehow making him look even taller.

“Well this is awkward…” Grif said, and he’d meant every word.

It had been _years_. Years. The guy probably hadn’t even thought of Grif at all, unless it was to despair over the terrible manner he’d lost his virginity.

“Shut up!” Simmons hissed, sounding mortified.

“Wow, way to make me feel at home,” Grif said.

“Oh my god, they stationed you _here_?” Simmons said. “ _You’re_ the new recruit?”

“No Simmons, I’m on _shore leave_. I’m spending my days in the middle of this ugly-ass canyon instead of the Vegas Quadrant like a normal person.”

Simmons flinched slightly. Wow. He _really_ didn’t want to think about Grif in Vegas. Oh well. It was just a stupid crush over a guy he’d never even kissed. No need to cry about it.

Grif rolled his eyes, and made the executive decision. If Simmons didn’t want to talk about what had happened, Grif wouldn’t push him. No need for that. “Look, seriously dude. Cut the awkward. Where’s the Sergeant?”

As usual, Simmons lit up at the mention of authority, and started dragging Grif into base to meet their leader.

Well, Grif thought, watching Simmons take off his helmet and getting to see his face again for the first time in years. At least he’d have some decent company in this fucking canyon.


End file.
